


Emotional Context

by allthe_subtext



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual John Watson, Confessions, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson In Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson in Denial, John Watson is a Saint, Kidnapped John Watson, Kidnapped Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poor John Watson, Poor Sherlock Holmes, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Realization, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson in Love, Worried Sherlock Holmes, reassurance, tortured John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthe_subtext/pseuds/allthe_subtext
Summary: Aeolus unsheathes a dagger and aims the tip at John’s heart.Sherlock sobers immediately. “What do you want.” His voice is dangerously low. But she doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand anything, just carves a bleeding heart over John’s chest until Sherlock shouts at her to “Stop! What do you want! ”“Emotional context,” she says, simply.*****John and Sherlock are kidnapped by Aeolus, an associate of Eurus’s who wants to finish what she started. All she wants is for John to tell Sherlock the secret he’s been keeping for years. When he refuses, she tells Sherlock, “Why don’t you give it a try? Deduce. It’s the only thing you’re good for, isn’t it?”His eyebrows draw together. “I-I can’t-”“I’ll give you a bit of incentive, then.” She pulls out a gun and levels it with John’s forehead. “Deduce.”*****When John and Sherlock are kidnapped, secrets are revealed, feelings are realized, and an OTP gets together.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

When John and Sherlock awaken to the sensation of coarse fabric against their wrists and stiffness in their limbs, neither are quite alarmed. Villains aren’t getting any more creative, and this is the fifth kidnapping in as many months.

Then she introduces herself as Aeolus. “Aeolus,” Sherlock mumbles. “Aeolus, the Keeper of the Winds?”

“Yes,” she says, “including Eurus.” They both stiffen. It’s been barely half a year since Sherrinford.

Then Sherlock pauses. “Aeolus is a male god. You’re Aeolus? You couldn’t have chosen a better name-” John elbows him, or he tries to, momentarily forgetting about the bonds. 

He may be bored, but he’s not reckless, like Sherlock. “We’re at her mercy,” he hisses, “don’t be stupid.” Sherlock looks affronted. 

Aeolus unsheathes a dagger and aims the tip at John’s heart. 

Sherlock sobers immediately. “What do you want.” His voice is dangerously low. But she doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand anything, just carves a bleeding heart over John’s chest until Sherlock shouts at her to “Stop! _What do you want!_ ”

“Emotional context,” she says, simply. John is shaking in the rickety wooden chair she’s tied him to, trying to steady his breaths and failing.

“What?”

She wipes the blade’s edge slowly down on John’s woolen jumper, cold delight shining in eyes so dark they look black. “Eurus didn’t have time to uncover the most damning secret you hide.” Aeolus is speaking to John, now, and only him. “You know what I’m talking about, Doctor. You’ve had a secret, John Watson, all these years.”

John looks as if he’s been struck. “Tell him,” she croons, “go ahead.” Sherlock looks at his partner with bewilderment, as John presses his lips together until they turn white and refuses to say a word.

“John, what’s going on?”

“Yes, John, what’s going on?” she mimics with wide eyes. She and Eurus share a similar quality of unease, unnaturalness rolling off them in waves. “Why won’t you say?”

Silence.

John swallows. “Because if I tell I’ll be alone again, and I-“ He closes his eyes. “I‘d rather die than bear that.”

So Aeolus continues to cut designs on his skin, Sherlock helpless but to watch, until Sherlock is practically begging John to just tell him. He watches the light glint off the metal knife, can’t look away, and tells John, “Please.”

And John whispers, with sadness so deep it takes Sherlock aback, “It’ll change everything.”

“When have we ever been afraid of change, John?” he says softly, but John only shakes his head in silence.

After a few minutes their kidnapper grows bored and stops. Sherlock thanks a god he doesn’t believe in, until she turns to him. “Why don’t you give it a try? Deduce. It’s the only thing you’re good for, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows draw together. “I-I can’t-”

“I’ll give you a bit of incentive, then.” She pulls out a gun and levels it with John’s forehead. “Deduce.” John does his best not to flinch.

Sherlock swipes frantically through every byte of data he’s ever collected on John Watson, bashes in the walls of his mind palace just to find an answer, but ends up with...nothing. There’s not enough information. The irony.

“Why are you doing this?” he demands, ragged. 

“I want to break you. I want you not only dead, but flayed open and hurting for the world to see,” she spits. “I will find what makes you hurt, and I will dig my knife in and _twist._ ”

“You didn’t answer my question.” John gives him another one of his looks.

“And you didn’t answer mine.” He has nothing to say to that. Aeolus laughs. “Oh Sherlock. You never did understand human emotion, did you? Fear. Grief. Love. You know only hate.” 

“Sherlock,” John pleads, and his voice breaks in the middle. It’s a tone he’s heard a thousand times before, but never understood. But something is writhing in the back of his mind, seeking release and it’s so close-

He stumbles upon a locked door in his palace. This shouldn’t be possible. But he’s desperate, so he throws himself at it, rams it with his body, until it splinters open with a scream and all its contents roar out.  
  


_-Amazing-_

_-you jealous? We’re not a couple- yes you are-_ _  
__  
__-I’m not actually gay. Well, I am. Look at us both-_

 _-You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool-_ _  
__  
__-it’s heartwarming. You’ll do anything for him-_ _  
__  
__-I’ll be next door if you need me-_

_-Do you have a boyfriend?-_

Oh.

_Oh._

He understands. Suddenly, he understands. He knows the truth, so beautiful and devastating that he must’ve been blind to miss it before.

Aeolus’s finger twitches on the trigger, and Sherlock jolts. “Wait!” he exclaims. “I’ve got it.” And why is it that John seems anything but relieved?

“Go on,” she says, putting the down the gun in slow motion.

“John,” he forces out through a dry throat. The memories, the clues, come flooding back, now that the dam has been smashed to smithereens.

  
 _-Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too-_ _  
__  
__-Being all mysterious with your cheekbones-_ _  
__  
__-People will talk-_ _  
__  
__-Bachelor John Watson. What the hell are they implying?-_ _  
__  
__-Hamish. John Hamish Watson. Just if you were- looking for baby names.-_

_-SHERLOCK!-_

“Loves me.” Sherlock’s clenching his fists so hard he can feel them bleed. “You love me, John.”

“Brilliant,” says John, and for once he sounds bitter. And the utter lack of denial is all the confirmation Sherlock needs. He reels, blinking rapidly. Because he’d guessed, that was mostly what he did, made educated guesses, but some part of him never believed it.

Their kidnapper laughs, elated. “You got it! I didn’t actually think you’d get past your own ego, but it’s always him, isn’t it?”

_-it’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right-_

_-he’s the bravest, kindest, wisest man I’ve ever had the fortune of knowing-_ _  
_

_-John Watson is your pressure point-_

“No,” he says, and John flinches. “He can’t be.” He stares at John. “You can’t be. You’re straight. You’ve had countless girlfriends-”

John laughs, and it sounds so broken. “I,” he says, “love you.” Sherlock only stares. 

“Can’t you see, even now? My girlfriends were all denial. Remember Jeannette? She was tall and dark and had the same stupid blue coat and- and she reminded me of you.” John doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Perfect.” Aeolus claps her hands like this is entertainment. “Now that we’ve got emotional context, it’s time to destroy you. Sherlock Holmes.” She picks up the gun again, aims it at John. “Because Eurus was right about one thing, wasn’t she? Emotional context. It destroys you. Every. Time.”

She pulls the trigger.

* * *

“JOHN!” Sherlock shouts, heart fracturing, before he realizes that she’s laughing.

John is sitting as far back in his chair as he can manage, eyes squeezed shut and face contorted in a grimace. 

She laughs. She’d shot a blank.

Then her eyes harden. “I’m not going to kill him,” she loads the gun with a click, “you are.”

“What,” Sherlock wheezes, “I don’t understand.” The world is spinning around him.

“For once,” she responds. Then she laughs again. Sherlock doesn’t know why she keeps doing that. Nothing about this is funny.

“Kill him,” she repeats, still smiling, “or I will.” Sherlock opens his mouth to protest loudly, but a loud voice makes him quiet.

“Do it.”

“What.”

“Do it,” John says, and he sounds resigned. 

“John, no-”

“He’s getting the point,” she says. “If I’m the one who pulls the trigger, I won’t shoot his head or his heart. It’ll be a messy kill, and he’ll bleed out for hours as you WATCH. Is that what you want?” she asks sweetly.

“You'd probably know the most painless way to kill a man,” John says, and he grins with a smile that’s unsteady around the edges. “One last thing, Sherlock. For me. Just for me.”

“Anything,” Sherlock breathes, before he even realizes what he’s saying, what he’s agreeing to.

“Make it quick,” he says. Sherlock sobs. “And look me in the eye.” The worst part is, Sherlock knows why. He’d been shot, in Afghanistan, by a stranger. Uncaring metal and hot sand, it could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been a stray. John wants to be killed by someone he knows, someone he loves (even if he knows they don’t love him back).

Aeolus presses the gun into Sherlock’s hands. He clutches the loaded weapon to his chest while she watches. “Kill him or I’ll kill you both.”

At this, John becomes urgent, breaks the calm he’d been exuding. “Do it, Sherlock. Do it for me. Walk out of here today.”

Sherlock raises the gun with a trembling hand, tremors running through his body. He levels it at the forehead of the only person he’s ever loved. The muzzle caresses John's skin like a lover, and somehow, the moment is more intimate than any they’ve ever shared.

“Do it,” John says. Sherlock realizes he’s panting, shuddering like his body is revolting against the very idea of harming this man. “It’s gonna be okay.”

And Sherlock has another epiphany, right there on the creaking floorboards of a killer’s attic. He’s never understood love. Until now.

Love is promising them it’s going to be ok at the end of the world, even as his finger puts more pressure on the trigger. Love is putting up with him when he’s bored, when he’s rude, when he’s a maniac, and running around London without complaint. Love is right here, right now, as John stares into his eyes so deeply he’s afraid he’s seen his soul. Love is unconditional. Love is selfless. Love is John Watson, and Sherlock wonders how he’d never seen it before.

One last thing.

Love is fear. Constant, pervading fear of putting your loved ones in harm’s way. It’s terror at the very thought of losing them. 

And in that moment, Sherlock Holmes is afraid.

It’s the end of the world, it’s the end of their world, and Sherlock stands there with a gun to John Watson’s head, and confesses, “I love you too.”

John’s eyes brighten with tears. “We were idiots, weren’t we? All this time, we could've had it all.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Sherlock echoes, pressing a delicate kiss to John Watson’s cheek. John trembles, and doesn’t resent this death for a moment.

Aeolus has been quiet, watching the drama unfold, but now she hurries them. “Go on. The finale. Shoot John Watson.”

Sherlock meets John’s eyes and knows that nothing will ever be the same. With his gun hand aching, he lifts his other and brushes John’s hair back tenderly. 

“Close your eyes,” he says. “I’m here now.”

And John obeys.

BANG

* * *

It’s deafening, the loudest sound he’s ever heard, but when John Watson opens his eyes, he’s still alive. _How_ is he still alive?

Their kidnapper keels over with a hole through her forehead. Sherlock shoots her again with her bullet for good measure (just to be sure) before roughly untieing John, every touch a reassurance of his wellbeing.

Sherlock talks to the air while he works. “You’re late, Mycroft.”

“And you, brother mine, seem to be in love.”

Sherlock smiles.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subscribe for a part two, and press kudos/comment to make my day! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reassures John of his love. via SPEECH

“It’s okay, you know,” John says on the ambulance ride home. “I know you did it just to save my life.”

“What on Earth are you talking about.”

“You.” John swallows. “Loving me.”  _ Because you’re a sociopath, and you’re incapable of loving anyone, let alone me- _

His spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Sherlock grabbing his collar and pulling him close, looking almost insulted. “I may hedge, I may obscure, but I will never lie about what I think of someone. And John, I think I’ve loved you since the day you shot that cabbie for me.”

John lets out a startled laugh, because _Go_ _ d _ isn't that morbid, but some of his disbelief must shine through on his face, because Sherlock huffs in frustration and lets him go. He runs his hand through his curls.

“Haven’t you noticed? When Irene Adler told you she liked detectives, I interrupted because you started _ smiling,  _ and you only ever looked at me that way. I terrorized your girlfriends because I was jealous and I left your wedding early because I couldn’t bear seeing you so happy with someone else. After I taught you to waltz, I kept on dancing alone in the flat because I couldn’t help but wish it was our first dance.” Now it’s Sherlock who can’t seem to stop, rambling, speeding up, and words tripping over the ends of each other in a hurry to spill out. “When Eurus told me I had to choose, I was  _ this  _ close to killing my brother and closer to shooting myself because it was far superior to the alternative. To your death being on my soul, to watching your light fade at my own hands. Moriarty promised to burn my heart out and when Magnusson put you in a pyre I knew he’d succeeded-”

Sherlock cuts off abruptly, staring at the hand John has curled around his own. A beat passes. “I wrote you a waltz, John Watson,” he continues, slower. “Of course I love you.”

John is gazing at him with eyes that are unbearably soft, and if he looks closer they might even be filling. “You mean it?” he asks tentatively.

“Yes,” Sherlock repeats, then squints at him. “You haven’t gone deaf, have you? That bullet was rather close-“

“Shut up, Sherlock.” And there’s the Sherlock he knows. “I love you too.”

* * *

And it’s beautiful, you know. Their love story.

Sherlock realizes he loves him, truly understands, when they’re both about to die and all he knows is how beautiful John looks, haloed in the darkened pool room, bomb strapped to his chest and light from the pool flickering on his face. How devastating it is when John tells him to run, acceptance in his eyes. 

John knows he loves Sherlock when he takes him on a wild goose chase around London and has someone else present his cane to him like a trophy, like a relic. It inflates in his chest as they sag against the wall, giggling breathlessly and feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

They have their first kiss in front of the body of a woman that deserved to die, John smeared with blood and Sherlock still shaking, and their first dance practicing for someone else’s wedding. They do it all wrong but it turns out all right. And it’s beautiful.

Because life is a game, and Sherlock’s just found the purpose.

And all John Watson has to say is, “Brilliant.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and a good day to all those who commented and pressed kudos!


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